Back after years of hellish health and family being awful... I hope you all enjoy this update (and the updates for my other stories)!
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Letters From a Fan
Chapter 18
Midoriya kissed Bakugo's temple as he finally drifted off to sleep, the exhaustive emotional release having left him just as drained physically as psychologically. They'd sat together for hours while Bakugo cried, no words being said.
Finally, when the sobbing ebbed away and his breathing stabilized, Midoriya was able to coax Bakugo back onto the couch he'd pulled him from, tucking him under a blanket and continuing to pet and comfort him until those swollen eyes collapsed.
His own eyes were overly dry and sore after having had bouts of crying himself, nose reddened from rubbing it so frequently. But together, they'd made it through this catharsis and that's what was most important… that, and apparently also helping put Kirishima back together.
The redhead was sitting at one of the consultation tables Midoriya and Mei had set up in anticipation of an influx of customers, head tucked into his crossed arms with a half-empty bottle of what looked like Mei's strongest alcohol.
Barreling into the room when Midoriya had been comforting Bakugo was startling, but he didn't end up needing to be told exactly what had gone down while he and Todoroki had been out of the shop. Analysis was his specialty and the redhead's face had said it all.
Coffee seemed like a good idea. Midoriya took his time making the brew, running through the possible scenarios that could occur once he woke Kirishima up. His mug was doused with cream and sugar, but he took a chance and left the redheads black, adding only cinnamon for extra flavor; that's how Bakugo liked his coffee, bitter and spicy.
"Hey…" he hummed, patting the boy's shoulder to stir him from his restless, booze-induced sleep. "I brought you some coffee."
Blearily, Kirishima blinked at Midoriya, mind mostly clear but still buzzed enough to slow his processing speed. The moment everything caught up, however, his face contorted in guilt with fresh tears pooling into his already burning eyes.
"Midoriya I—" He attempted, only to stop short when a hot cup was held in front of him, the person holding it smiling with kindness and understanding that shouldn't be possible given the circumstances.
"Drink first and take a breath, then we'll talk," Midoriya ordered. After an agreeable nod, he rounded the table and sat opposite Kirishima, thumbing his cup with nervous anticipation before sipping the sugary blend.
Once the haze of alcohol seemed to clear from Kirishima's demeanor, Midoriya opened the door for conversation. "I can't believe you drank that stuff Mei made." He chuckled, gazing warily at the bootleg bottle still open on the table. "I tried a sip once and thought I'd been poisoned."
Having meant it to lighten the mood, Midoriya was saddened to see that Kirishima's usually unwavering positivity didn't return in the slightest, his expression even more haunted and guilty.
Midoriya also took notice of how, despite remaining downcast, Kirishima's eyes continuously flickered over his exposed skin. Mei had been just as encouraging as Todoroki when it came to his appearance, assuring him that he looked like 'a total badass' with all his scars. As such, unless he was with a customer and dressed to impress, he'd become completely comfortable wearing shorts and regular T-shirts rather than all long sleeves and full-length pants.
A rebound of insecurity rushed through his veins, but it was short-lived. The more he observed, the clearer it was that Kirishima wasn't disturbed by the scars themselves, but likely what they could have been caused by—namely, was his 'best bro' Bakugo responsible.
"You know, this one time I was out getting groceries and a villain started causing a ruckus outside the store. The Pros hadn't gotten there yet, and he'd taken a little girl as a hostage, stating that unless everyone in the vicinity handed over their wallets, he'd kill her." Midoriya explained, scooting forward in his seat as he attempted to engage Kirishima in conversation once more.
"Anyway, he was just some thug but had a powerful quirk. I did the only thing I could think of and shook a bottle of soda I'd purchased, opening it just as the guy noticed me rushing toward him; managed to hit him straight in the eye with the fizz."
Midoriya smiled when Kirishima finally looked up, taking that as a sign to continue. "He dropped the girl immediately and she got away, but I wasn't so lucky. His hands were massive, and he was so strong and fast... I dodged a couple of attacks, but he caught my upper arm."
Midoriya twisted in his seat slightly, putting the full extent of the scar he'd received on display. It ran from elbow to shoulder, damaged skin protruding in a solid, thick keloid that covered the width of his toned arm. "All it took was a squeeze and my bicep basically exploded, bones shattering, and skin splitting like a popped balloon. If Kacchan hadn't shown up right then, I'd be dead right now, or at least using a prosthetic."
He rubbed at the area, noting that even years later it remained sore. "He took me to Recovery Girl and then stayed at my bedside for days, terrified that I wouldn't pull through. After that he made sure I received care from the best physical therapist's money could buy and requisitioned specialized gear for me to wear whenever I left the house, just to make sure that something like that would never happen to me again."
Midoriya took a moment to analyze Kirishima after concluding his story, able to read his thoughts so clearly. The young pro had always seemed so overzealous and confident, but once rattled, his poker face was easily broken. He let their conversation lapse, however, giving his guest time to process.
~0.0~
Kirishima already knew about the incident Midoriya had spoken about. It had occurred barely a month after Bakugo had first begrudgingly talked about his boyfriend. Nobody had gotten a good look at Midoriya. Civilians had run away the moment the child was free and the news outlets who covered the situation didn't name the sole victim or show his face—likely on Bakugo's insistence.
The blonde had indeed taken leave from work for nearly two weeks, an unprecedented amount considering nothing had ever kept Bakugo from working before. After returning to duty, he'd been unusually quiet and sullen despite a noticeable rise in violence towards villains. Kirishima hadn't been able to get much out of him, honestly, just that Midoriya had been seriously hurt and was still at risk of losing the use of his arm.
Combined with the current knowledge he'd been given about their relationship though, it made little sense as to why Bakugo would be so concerned about Midoriya getting hurt when he caused terrible harm himself. There were plenty of other scars visible on Midoriya's arms, hands, and the area not covered by the collar of his loose-fitting T-shirt that were very clearly a result of Ground Zero's quirk.
"I… I don't understand…" He admitted, pitifully. "The things… the things he told me he did to you…"
Nausea clenched dangerously in his stomach, too much alcohol combined with too little food, and now the sickening truth shoved down his throat more than his body was able to handle. He covered his mouth quickly, lurching as burning fluid filled his mouth. It was only thanks to Midoriya's quick pointing that he was able to make it to a nearby trashcan before another wave rushed up into his already full cheeks and spewed out.
"Ugh…" He groaned, shakily taking in a few more breaths to gauge if the fit was over or not. Unbreakable on the outside, maybe, but inside he was just as sensitive as anyone else, and his throat and sinuses were thoroughly on fire.
Midoriya was by his side with a box of tissues, patting his back gently while he cleaned himself up. The residual burning in his body paled compared to how ridiculous he felt allowing the smaller man to support part of his weight and lead them back to their chairs. Wasn't he the hero? Wasn't this current situation his fault? Wasn't he supposed to be comforting Midoriya and not the other way around?
"I know I'm being unmanly, but it's just so much to take in." He explained with guilt and shame. "I knew what Katsuki could be like and I still refused to see it…"
With a depressing sigh, he swallowed a mouthful of the coffee Midoriya had brought him, finding it was exactly the way he liked it. His face must have given him away, he assumed, because Midoriya answered his unasked question.
"That's how Kacchan likes his coffee."
Before another outflux of acid could bubble up into his throat Midoriya spoke again, a more subdued but truthful smile on his nostalgic face. "I'm all about sugar as you can see," he explained, tilting his cup to show the nearly white mixture he'd been sipping. "But Kacchan never really cared about it; even when we were little kids he was rarely interested in eating dessert. You ordered the same thing at the restaurant we went to, so, my intuition said you'd probably enjoy something with a bite to it."
The restaurant… That's when he first met Midoriya in person and when it should have become apparent that something was terribly wrong. Kirishima looked down at his beverage spitefully, hating that he and Bakugo really did share the same taste in foods. "I should've seen it. How you acted around one another and how scared you were, but I didn't... I didn't want to."
"Todoroki thought pretty much the same thing after seeing a bruise Kacchan gave me after their argument at the Gala." Midoriya hummed, voice steady and calm. "But I wasn't and have never been afraid of Kacchan, Kirishima."
No. This wasn't right. Midoriya didn't have to put on a brave face just to spare him; he'd seen fear in those green eyes that night. Shaking his head, he reached across the table to gently grip one of the scar-covered hands resting there, hoping he wasn't being too forward with the touch.
"You don't have to pretend anymore, okay?" Kirishima assured; his smile likely pitiful even though it was meant to convey comfort. "I know victims tend to downplay everything that's been done to them but—"
"I'm not pretending, downplaying, or deluding myself, Kirishima." Midoriya interrupted firmly. His previously gentle eyes were hardened with passion and conviction. "I know better than anyone just how violent and volatile Kacchan can be. And yeah, a lot of the time I actively tried not to piss him off because of his tendency to take things too far during fights, but I wasn't scared of him."
An unnerving silence stretched between them, Kirishima too bewildered by the statement to speak while Midoriya seemed to have lost some of his strength, an air of self-consciousness taking its place.
Midoriya sighed and looked towards the room Bakugo was sleeping in. "I'm not going to lie and tell you that he never used his quirk to hurt me. I'm not saying that he didn't sometimes act like a total bastard by insulting me and making me feel worthless. And I'm not implying that he was never abusive or that his behavior didn't affect me psychologically…"
"It's just…" Midoriya continued, pausing once more to summon his courage. "Kacchan is physical, you know? He's never been able to just talk about what he's feeling. Whether he's experiencing anger, sadness, happiness, love— his language is action, not words."
With a slow tug, Midoriya pulled his shirt down, exposing more of the speckled burn scars that lay scattered across his collarbones. "When things became violent, I wasn't afraid because I knew Kacchan wasn't truly trying to hurt me, even if that was exactly what happened. In my mind, he was trying to convey something… he was communicating."
Nothing. Kirishima couldn't come up with a single thing to respond with even though he desperately wanted to. Midoriya had a far-off look in his eyes now. Deep anguish and cynicism muddying the tears that began glistening on his lower lashes.
"We were both so alone, so broken…" he stated quietly, more to himself than to Kirishima. "Two people who had no one else that could understand them..."
The redhead watched Midoriya's spacey gaze finally leave the door Bakugo was being kept behind, landing on his scarred, folded hands. Regret and contentment, denial and acceptance; his face was a mess of conflict.
"It's so strange, isn't it? Midoriya asked with a sniffling, humorless chuckle. "The way a damaged person's mind works, I mean. What they're willing to do or let be done to themselves… What they consider normal…"
Another long silence hung in the air, his words painting a dark but accurate portrayal of how both abusers and the abused slowly spiral, each incident further weakening their grasp on reality until the situation becomes dire.
"Kacchan usually started the arguments, but I was so certain that baiting him into a real fight would somehow make things better in the long run… That if I could just take the pain, I could provide an outlet for what he couldn't bring himself to say." Midoriya continued, grimacing. "Because Kacchan really wasn't able to express himself like everyone else… Society let the worst parts of him fester out of control until he couldn't function around people anymore."
Midoriya smiled then though, even as the tears he'd been holding back finally came dribbling down his freckled cheeks. "But at the end of the day, we knew that neither of us would ever truly leave, no matter what was said or done. It was a toxic, co-dependent nightmare, but we weren't alone anymore… We didn't feel quite so broken in each other's company. And for years that was enough for us to maintain the status quo-both of us."
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As always, thank you for reading and for your patience with my health problems! I'm updating most of my stories, so, check them out if you're interested!